


Purple Snowflakes

by buckyjerkbarnes



Series: to the tune of marvin gaye [2]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - No Powers, Everything is Beautiful and Nothing Hurts, Fluff, Fluff and Humor, Gen, Humor, Kid Fic, M/M, Post-Serum Steve Rogers, Romantic Comedy, Romantic Gestures, SO MUCH FLUFF YOU'LL NEED TO SEE YOUR DENTIST ASAP, Slice of Life, Steve is now the human disaster here, Steve just loves Bucky so much, Uncertainty (for like a second), but it's endearing as hell, don't let the christmas cookies burn, holiday party, if the character tagged isn't in chapter 1, rated M for a lil shower scene, they are going to turning up in chapter 2!!, touch of angst but it's okay it shows just how far the Rogers fam has come
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-12-25
Updated: 2016-12-25
Packaged: 2018-09-12 04:20:13
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,184
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9055030
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/buckyjerkbarnes/pseuds/buckyjerkbarnes
Summary: Steve took a moment to indulge himself, to take in the sleep-softness in the contours of Bucky’s face, the way he was wearing Steve’s robe over a plain white tee and a pair of old basketball shorts like this was a routine they’d always been doing.  [Or it's the holidays and Steve Rogers is in love.]





	

**Author's Note:**

> HAPPY HOLIDAYS!!!! Alternatively known as who even knew Marvin Gaye did Christmas songs???? Enjoy!

**( * * * )**

 

Steve woke up to a warm bed, the space to his left still filled with heat, but empty nonetheless. The curtains had been parted to let in a slanted square of early-morning blue light, the edges of the glass frosted over from the late night gust of snow. Rolling so he had his face buried in Bucky's pillow, he let out a soft noise of pleasure at the scent of Bucky winding up his nose.

The last few months since his daughter had played matchmaker had been some of the best of Steve’s life. Bucky had fallen into so many of his empty spaces, those Steve was aware of and so many that he hadn’t been. Having him around, always close enough to touch or to kiss or to just simply _see_ grounded Steve in a way that not many things did: they fit together like a couple of puzzle pieces and Steve had never believed in having more than one love in one’s lifetime, but he couldn’t deny the feelings blooming within him like a garden in the middle of spring—he didn’t want to.

Bucky was intelligent, sharp as a tack when it came to his wit, loyal as hell, and one of the kindest people Steve had ever had the fortune to meet. It helped that Steve’s friends approved—the gold stars of support ranged in brightness from Pepper’s smiles of delight to Sam’s smug smirks to Tony’s not-so-subtle-what-even-is- _subtle_ and very vocal comments concerning Steve and Bucky’s sex life— and that Sarah adored Bucky something fierce.

That bit scared Steve. He tried to keep this fear buckled down and shut up at the very back of his head and typically failed. He couldn’t help it with each time Bucky picked Sarah up from school or when they’d taken a trip to the Met, Bucky and Sarah making jokes about the _anatomy_ of the statues in the Greek sculpture hall while Steve walked behind them at a more leisurely pace. Or the day they’d drove out to Coney Island before it got too cold and they’d all gotten stomach aches from an over-indulgence in cotton candy and Nathan’s hotdogs and funnel cake only to take a ride on the Ferris wheel right as the sun was falling away on the horizon. He and Bucky had kissed shyly like a pair of kids at the top. Steve didn’t know what he’d do if something abruptly occurred if there was no longer a _Steve and Bucky_ and he was forced to just become _Steve_ again. Or worse—if for some reason, Bucky walked out of their lives and hurt Sarah after she’d gone and got attached to him. Steve didn’t want to find out.

He hoped to God he’d never have to.

Steve blew out a breath, arching his back to get rid of a small area of tightness in the middle of his spine. He grunted when he stretched out his arms then his legs, flexing his calves to get his blood pumping. A glance at the alarm showed that it was only a little after seven. He couldn’t hear any noise in the bathroom, swinging his legs over the side of the bed, and shoving his feet into Bucky’s comfy bedroom slippers to pad in the direction of the kitchen.

The door to Sarah’s room was slightly ajar. He poked his head in to check on her and found her bed had already been made, the little lamp she kept on during the night clicked off.

He walked downstairs, tightening the drawstring on his sweatpants and paused on the last step when he heard voices chatting softly with one another from the kitchen. Steve saw Bucky moving away from the coffee maker, a steaming cup raised just beneath his nose so he could breathe in the fresh scent of java beans. His sweetheart leaned on the counter, braced by both elbows, facing Sarah, whose hair was wild and looked more like a bird's nest than anything else.

Steve took a moment to indulge himself, to take in the sleep-softness in the contours of Bucky’s face, the way he was wearing Steve’s robe over a plain white tee and a pair of old basketball shorts like this was a routine he’d always been doing. God almighty, he loved this man so much, so deeply his teeth ached and the thought did not scare him in the way it might have, once.

Just as he was pretty damn attuned to Bucky, a pair of silver eyes rose from Sarah’s face and landed directly on where Steve loitered near the bottom of the steps. A lopsided smile illuminated his features, sent the faint laughter lines around the corners of his eyes bursting to makethemselves seen. _So beautiful_ , Steve thought over the faint feeling of light-headedness, moving over the hardwood of the entryway to the even icier linoleum tile of the kitchen.

"Good morning," Steve said, unable to keep the dopey grin from rising up on his features. Sarah leaned up to accept his typical peck to the cheek, tipping sleepily into her palm. He worried if he nudged her arm she might actually collapse forward face-first and bonk her head on the countertop.

“Morning,” Bucky murmured, kissing Steve sweet and slow, curling an arm around Steve’s middle as he pressed Steve’s favorite mug into Steve’s free hand.

The coffee was made just the way he liked it and he sighed in pleasure at the taste. “You’re a saint.”

Bucky looked like he wanted to say something low and suggestive in response to that, something like _that wasn’t what you were saying last night_ , but glanced at Sarah and refrained. He did curl a hand to the jut of Steve’s hip and settled there. “Sarah, baby, did you eat already?”

“Mhm,” she mumbled. “Toast and bacon.”

“Really?” Steve teased. “You can barely hold yourself up and I’m supposed to believe that you loaded bread into the toaster, pressed the switch down to toast the bread…”

“Ngh,” Sarah groaned intelligibly, her hand slipping from her face and moving so she rested her forehead heavily atop her folded arms. “Too early.Nope.”

He and Bucky shared a fond look, made even fonder when he found Bucky’s gaze was warm and liquefied, tracing over each of Steve’s features like an actual physical touch that made Steve’s toes curl in the best possible way. “Why don’t you head back up to bed, huh? Buck and I can take care of things for a few hours, wake you up around ten?”

Sarah did not have to be told twice, though he had no doubt she’d probably feel bad about not helping out and set her alarm to go off between eight-thirty and nine, instead. She grunted once, shooting them both a smile. She was gone soon after.

That left him and Bucky alone and close in the kitchen. He ghosted a kiss over Bucky’s temple. “Have _you_ eaten anything yet?”

“Was waiting for you,” Bucky murmured. 

Bucky had stayed over about as often as he went back to his shared place with Clint and Natasha. The hours he spent at SHIELD Tech as a supervisor to the various projects zipping in and out were good enough that he rarely had to stay late and when he did, it was never past eight or nine. They made their usual bacon and eggs with a side of toast, shifting around each other as though this was a dance they’d been doing it for years rather than just a few months. Steve stamped down on that earlier thought of fright, on that uncertainty that lay with the future and whether or not Bucky would always be a part of it. It wasn’t hard to shove the vexatious stream of consciousness out of the spotlight with Bucky humming “The Christmas Song” as he fried and dished out the eggs. He happily distracted himself by tenderly tugging back the material of the robe covering Bucky’s left shoulder to kiss the wool-warmed skin.

“Mmm,” Bucky hummed contentedly, leaning his back into Steve’s chest. “I’m gonna be upset if our bacon burns.”

The bacon does _not_ burn, but it’s a close thing.

After they’ve eaten, Steve checked the fridge to be sure they didn’t need to sprint to the store at any point during the day. His mental checklist is thorough from years of keeping up with Sarah’s needs all by himself and he turned to find Bucky leaning against the counter with his arms folded over his chest, a little smile playing around his lips.

The other man stuck out a hand and Steve didn’t hesitate to take it, never considered doing otherwise as they stepped into each other’s personal space. Bucky cupped Steve’s face in his hands, tugging him in for a lazy kiss, bumping his nose to tease Steve’s mouth open for a quick taste. He petted his fingers over the soft skin just over Bucky’s hipbone, grunting his distaste when Bucky pulled back, pecking him chastely half a dozen times.

“Have you forgot—,” and he can’t miss the slight hoarse edge to Bucky’s voice, thinks to himself _I did that_ , “—we’re hosting a holiday party and we’ve not started cooking anything yet?”

Steve tried to pull him back in, protesting with a quiet huff, but Bucky wouldn’t have it. “Nuh-uh, doll,” Bucky couldn’t resist a smile, though. “Put the baby blues away. We’ve made our bed and now we’ve got to lay in it. You need to start on the ham and I’ll get the deviled eggs done. Come on—,” and he humored Steve by kissing him a final, heady time, to the point that all the heat in Steve’s cheeks had ran abruptly south. “—we’ve got a kick-ass party to get ready by four o’clock.”

“Do we _have_ to?” Steve joked, only half the inquiry a true whine.

“Stevie, Tony said he’s going to bring a fruit cake. Fruit cake, in case you’ve never tried it, is absolute _trash._ We are not going to allow that sort of food blasphemy here.” His hands snuck around to squeeze Steve’s ass, just once and yep, his sleep pants were definitely a lot tighter than they’d been when he first walked in. “Get to it and maybe then we can take a break? Kiss the cook and all that.”

Steve shot him a salute, shifting to the sink to properly wash his hands.

The holidays hadn’t always been like this, bright and warm—there had been a time when it was the exact opposite. Steve hated to think back on the days immediately after his wife’s death, when he didn’t have Bucky, when there was a thick, mourning veil of sadness constantly draped over him and he could barely function.

He’s so glad of the change.

 

**( * * * )**

 

_SIX YEARS AGO…_

_The thing is if Sam hadn't been with visiting his mother in Harlem and Pepper hadn't been up to her neck in planning for a charity event that benefited St. Jude's Children Hospital, Steve would have never left Sarah under Tony's supervision. Sure, he trusted Tony just fine, but out of all the people he knew that were capable of watching his child, Tony was, most unfortunately but to absolutely no one's shock, at the bottom of that list. It had been his first day back at Brooklyn Heights Elementary after having taken a two month leave of absence following Peg’s passing and he was a wreck almost all day._

_His coworker, Jean Grey, had brought him a cup of coffee, her husband, the gym teacher, Logan, had clapped him on the shoulder and nodded. The former had smiled a small, empathetic smile, the latter looked like he wanted to head out behind the dumpsters for a smoke. He was so fucking gone, though, that his kindergarten class had even noticed and they typically had the attention span of goldfish which was to say no attention span at all. A few of the girls had approached him, barely coming up to his knees, and tugged on his smock, their lips trembling._

_They’d wondered if they’d done something wrong and his felt his knees give out. “No,” Steve said, shaking his head and biting back tears and wanting to rip his fucking heart out of his chest so he didn’t_ feel _for five god damn minutes, but he was surrounded by a dozen five-to-six year olds. “Do you know when you feel sad and you just… you just want to cry?” They nodded, every last one of them. His throat seized. “That’s how I feel today—I’m sorry you all had to see me like this.”_

_And then he was the recipient of a group hug, their tiny arms looping around his neck for an uncountable number of minutes. They hadn’t even started with their finger painting assignment; there wasn’t even a can of paint open._

_Steve shook himself, bumping his already damp sleeve over his cheeks to rid himself of the remnants of tears. He stepped out of the elevator when he reached the workshop level of Stark Tower, immediately prompting: "Where is my daughter, Stark?"_

_"Over there," Tony flapped a hand in the general direction of the far side of the lab. "Dum-E is taking care of her. Pretty sure he's more qualified for child-rearing than I am, anyway. If you’re thirsty, I’ve got a whole blender full of vegan health drink crap over there—"_

_When Steve rounded the corner, moving past a couple of questionable pieces of technology he could not begin to guess the function of, he found Sarah laying on her belly, feet kicking back and forth contentedly in the air, as she scribbled on the back of a sheet of clean blueprint paper. Dum-E's small hooked claw was holding the cup of pens she was choosing from. She only just seemed to realize he was there when he squatted down and touched the back of her head._

_"Daddy!" she bellowed, grinning hugely and launching herself into his arms. He ended up on his ass, legs splayed with fifty-five pounds of six-almost-seven-thank-you-sir year old in his arms. Sarah buried her faces in his shoulder, arms tight around his neck. He didn’t care.  He’d missed her just as much._

_“Did you have fun with Uncle Tony?”_

_She hummed the affirmative. “He took me to get breakfast at the café downstairs and then we drove around the city and I helped him pick out a necklace for Aunt Pepper and then—,” the more she spoke, the more tension chipped away from his shoulders. God, she had Peggy’s dark curls and her chin and he wanted to hug her again, but she was already back to working on her drawing. It was of Dum-E decked out in fat Christmas lights and garlands, a Santa hat tipped jauntily on its robotic head._

_Sarah must have asked him something because her head lifted to stare up at him and she was frowning. Her mouth fell open into a small O. “You’ve been crying,” she whispered._

_All the tension he’d lost came rushing back, pushing his shoulders into a slumped heap. He wanted to lie and tell her his face was just frost-bitten from the cold, but she had his number: she was like Peg on that front, too. “Yeah,” he told her lamely._

_Sarah didn’t look away. She hopped up and she hugged him once more, fiercely and with far more strength then he expected from her. “S’okay to cry,” she said in a small voice that did not crack. “I miss Momma, too.”_

_He held her for what could have been a minute and what could have been a week, but at one point he managed to pull himself out from beneath the fog that had settled over him long enough to encourage her to gather her things while he spoke to Tony real quick._

_“Hey, sour patch,” Tony said. “I just fed and watered your offspring, so would you be a dear and hold this—,” he brandished some sort of metal casing, “—while I replace a bit of the circuitry?”_

_Steve nodded, jerkily. Moved across the room on autopilot. “Yeah, sure.”_

_On his way to the Tower, he’d had to cut through a city completely covered in twinkling lights, the signature reds and greens of Christmas on every corner and on every billboard. There were no less than seven Salvation Army bell-ringers on every street—traffic had been shit so, of course, Steve had had plenty of time to count them all. Each radio station played the same holiday songs twenty-four seven. No matter where he looked, all Steve saw joy and cheer and everything that he was incapable of feeling. He tried for Sarah, had bought her the set of pencils she’d been eying the last time they’d gone to the craft store, a little pink pea coat, too many other things to list off. All if it added up to be colorful distractions of what was missing from their Christmas, of what could never be replaced by material items._

_"She's all I have, Tony," Steve said softly, completely cutting off Tony’s stream of amazingly specific technology babble. The dark-haired man had been speaking for well over two minutes and Steve hadn’t caught a word of it. "She's my entire world."_

_Tony looked like he would have clapped Steve on the shoulder had it not been for the fact he was holding a large wrench in one hand and a bunch of wires in his other. He settled for patting Steve lightly on the arm with the tool. "Now I'm going to say this once, because I can only get down and dirty and emotional about twice a year before my brain starts to short circuit and I'm saving the other time for mine and Pep's anniversary, but you've got a solid support system. You've got Sam, Pepper and I. You've got those old gay men with the twins that live next to you—"_

_Steve rolled his eyes, dipping his head as he huffed a laugh. "Charles and Eric are in a world of their own. Wanda and Pietro are kids I’ve had a handful of conversations with."_

_"Cute family, though," his friend hummed. "Wanda's pretty tight with the little lady over there, right?" Tony’s brow furrowed, he scratched at his goatee with the wires, nose crinkling when they rubbed a little harder than he thought they might. "I may not know a lot, but I’m pretty sure that it’s a good thing for Sarah to have a support system of people closer to her age group."_

_Steve could not disagree with that. He also couldn’t help but snark: “You sure you’re not wearing a wire with Pepper feeding you right things to say in your ear?”_

_“Oh, eat me, Rogers,” Tony rolled his eyes, wriggling the wires in Steve’s face just to get a reaction out of him. “Pretty sure the people in China can see that you’d rather be anywhere but here—get out of my hair. Take your kid home. We’ll do brunch this weekend.” It was not a question, but a meeting already penciled in and made official if the lift to Tony’s brow was any scale to judge by._

_“Thank you, Tony,” Steve said quietly. “Really. Thank you.”_

_Tony appeared to be on the verge of waving the wires again. Something in the other man’s features softened. “You can come back and inflate my ego when you don’t look like a kicked Labrador.”_

_He left, soon after, with Sarah sitting on his shoulders, bundled up against the chill of New York in December._

 

**( * * * )**

 

Steve went upstairs to shower after the ham was properly prepared, potatoes were mashed and in the oven to be cooked, green beans marinating in an old Rogers’ family recipe, with Bucky’s deviled eggs chilling in the fridge and the ingredients for chocolate chip and sugar cookies ready to be made into batter. He stripped, turning on the water and waiting a few seconds to be sure he’d not be getting an ice bath where he wanted a hot stream.

He had barely got to the rinse part of the wash, rinse, repeat cycle before the door to the bathroom opened and nicked shut and the sound of fabric sliding over skin sounded. Bucky peaked around the curtain, grinning at Steve with the gray of his eyes near-swallowed by the black of his pupils. “Mind if I cut in?”

Steve hauled him in as his answer.

They may or may not have— _they totally did_ —taken advantage of the slickness of the soap and rutted up against each other like teenagers on their first date. Steve had a hand fisted in Bucky’s hair, sucking a mark on his neck, just below the shell of Bucky’s ear and Bucky was gripping at Steve’s waist, hands roaming toward the V of Steve’s legs just as—

There was a pointed _knock-knock_ at the bathroom door and then Sarah’s voice was filtering in from the other side: “Dad! Have you seen Bucky? I can’t find him!”

Bucky’s hand stilled around Steve’s dick, thumb teasing over the neglected head. They looked at each other with eyes too big for their faces. “I, uh, think he ran to the store, honey!” Steve called back, glaring half-heartedly when Bucky’s shoulders started to shake and his bit his lip to keep his laughter repressed.

“I thought we had everything, though!”

“Uh, _fuck_ —,” there went the bottle of shampoo tumbling to the floor of the tub, “—I think he went to pick up more potatoes!”

Though he could tell Sarah wanted to reply to that, something caught her attention. “The buzzer for the ham is going off—I’m going to head down and check it!”

The moment he was sure she was gone, Steve shoved Bucky against the wall and ground against him, relishing in the choked off laugh turned moan that left Bucky’s throat. “I-I thought you were going to say I’d gone t-to the store to pick up a salami, for a minute, there.”

Steve snorted, turning to grab the body wash and lather up a palm full to smooth over Bucky’s back and shoulders, down that spectacular backside and over the solid columns of his thighs. Those long fingers of Bucky’s stroked through Steve’s scalp, ushering away any remaining shampoo and reached for the conditioner with the hand the least covered in suds.

It took about ten minutes before they finally pulled themselves together and broke apart long enough to tip-toe-run to Steve’s room, towels tucked around their hips and slotting the door mutely in their wake. Bucky went immediately to the duffle bag he packed to stay the night, swiping on two streaks of deodorant and tugging on a clear pair of boxers.

“What?” Bucky asked when he looked over his shoulder and found Steve staring.

“You’re so handsome,” Steve murmured. “S’hard to keep my eyes off of you.”

That sent a pretty blush blooming in the circles of Bucky’s cheeks from Steve’s blatant honesty. “Yeah, well,” he said. “It’s taking all my self-control _not_ to come across the room right now.”

“Is it?” Steve inquired innocently, letting the towel fall to the floor around his feet and making a whole show of moving to his chest of drawers, of searching for a fresh pair of underwear. Bucky’s short intake of breath could not be missed as Steve stepped into his boxers, curling over at the middle to slowly pull the elastic band up this his waist. The muscles in his backside and his lower back flexed as he did so, momentarily exposing the most intimate parts of himself for Bucky’s viewing pleasure.

“ _Steve_ ,” Bucky groaned. “You’re _killing_ me.”

He smirked, shameless, straightening up. “Yeah, well.”

“God, you’re an ass.”

“You say the sweetest things, dear.”

They dressed in the same manner, teasing and bantering, trying not to touch and failing. Steve donned a pair of what Bucky fondly called Dad Khakis, slipping on a plain undershirt and putting a red flannel over that, tucking the loose ends of the well-worn shirt into the hem of his pants. He put on a pair of wool socks, shoving his feet in the brown loafers he’d worn on his and Bucky’s first date. In contrast, Bucky wore a pair of soft-looking jeans, the type that had been broken in and looked a little thin around the knees. He smoothed a chunky-knit navy blue sweater into place, leaving his feet bare and curling against the plush carpeting.

“I think we should go downstairs at intervals,” Steve said, once they were both company ready. “Sarah will know something’s up if we go together.”

Bucky chuckled. “She’s sharp as a tack, Steve—she already knows I haven’t left this house.” He agreed, nonetheless, and waited seven odd minutes before he joined Steve and Sarah in the living room. Steve was arranging gifts, making room for any that might be brought by later, organizing into piles according to who the present was for.

Sarah raised an eyebrow the moment she laid eyes on Bucky, pausing in the midst of Windexing the windows. She’d stopped in the middle of a wide swipe. “You went to the store, huh?”

Bucky took her gamble, said: “Yup.”

“You forget the bags there?”

“They were all out.”

“Of…?”

“Everything,” Bucky told her, serious as a heart attack.

Steve covered his laugh with a hard cough into his fist. “Uh- _huh_ ,” Sarah said, brow lifted comically high as she looked between them both. “Well, that’s tragic, isn’t it?”

“It is,” Bucky agreed. “I’m going to go make the cookies.”  

Sarah nodded, clearly amused and seeing right through the both of them so quickly, they might as well have been made of Saran Wrap. “You do that.” They resumed their respective tasks long enough to be sure that Bucky was out of earshot and then his daughter turned to him, sitting the bottle of cleaning liquid on the windowsill, propping the roll of paper towels beside it. “You gonna to do it tonight?”

Steve bopped his head in confirmation. “Once all the commotion settles down, yeah.”

She beamed at him, more brilliant than the Rockefeller Christmas tree. “I can’t wait to see his face.”

“Neither can I,” Steve said, noticeably less ecstatic.

He couldn’t quite meet her eyes, placing down the box containing a set of purple mugs for Clint down with a little more force than necessary. “Dad,” Sarah said softly. “Dad, come on, look at me.” She was the chink in his armor—he couldn’t deny her anything, even if he had to swallow a bit of his pride to do so. Sarah moved noiselessly until she was kneeling at his side. “I bet as soon as you start talking, everything will fall into place and you’ll laugh at yourself for how much you worried.”

How could he _not_ be worried though?

Steve was going to tell Bucky he loved him. He’d been hit by the realization about a month and a half after they’d began to go out. The moment had come when they’d went on a date to Prospect Park—New York in autumn was a spectacular sight to behold, with the gold and bronze foliage sending the skyline ablaze, and he’d stopped to tie his shoe and had pulled himself up in time to see Bucky several paces ahead, looking back at his shoulder at Steve. It was something out of a cheesy Hallmark movie, the sun slanting just right across Bucky’s features, the way Bucky smiled so beautifully at him, and suddenly the pieces had all… shifted. He had gone breathless from it, nearly blurted out the words right then and there. He’d bit the inside of his cheek to keep from doing so, focusing on taste of copper and old pennies that swarmed the lining of his mouth instead of how he’d kind of wanted to cry and jump on the nearest park bench and shout his declarations of love for everyone in vicinity to hear.

Now, if he didn’t know better, he’d have thought that Bucky had made it a personal challenge to look as endearing as possible, to act as kind as he could and do everything in his power to make Steve’s heartstrings pang with an uncontrollable fondness that literally every time as Bucky so much as blinked, Steve wanted to say those words. At the grocery store, coming home from work and seeing Bucky sitting on the front steps with Sarah, right before bed, during phone calls on Steve’s lunch break.

He’d become well-acquainted with the taste of copper and old pennies, as of late.

It had taken him over a year to tell Peggy he loved her when they were in high school—what if he said it too quickly? What if he scared Bucky off? What if—?

And Sarah said: “ _Steven Grant_ ,” with such a sharpness, he was suddenly thrust back to his youth, to every instance he’d gotten into a fight and come home bloody and sore and his Ma would just _sigh_ and get the first-aid kit. It was enough to get his attention. “You have nothing to worry about. Just breathe. Tonight is going to be perfect—now let me get back to the real work, yeah? Go see if Bucky needs any help.” She tipped in, kissed Steve on the tip of the nose, and resumed her cleaning of the windowpanes.

He wanted to ask her when she’d gone and grown up on him, but that would only serve to make his throat tighten more and he already had enough reasons for that, right then. Steve got to his feet, bumping a smaller parcel back into place so it rested comfortably atop a box three times its size instead of hanging out on the edge of safety and tumbling to the ground.

When he rounded the corner into the kitchen, it’s to the sight of Bucky dancing to a song only he can hear, swaying his hips and munching on cookie dough. A couple of stray locks of hair fell onto his forehead, nearly into those stormy eyes and Steve thought to himself: _Yeah, I can do this._

**( * * * )**

Thirty odd minutes later find Steve hitting the master switch that sent the living room into twinkling wonderland of colored lights, Bucky let out a laugh in time for Sarah to jab a finger at him. Her mouth was twitching. “Not one _Stranger Things_ joke had better come out of your mouth, Barnes.”

Bucky smiled about as angelically as the topper settled on the tree.

To break up the playful tension between the two, Steve asked: “Hey, Buck? How many minutes until the cookies are done?”

“Ha!” Bucky said triumphantly, punching air. He shot Sarah finger guns as he replied: “ _Eleven_.”

“Urgh!” Sarah groaned, actually face-palming as she turned her eyes heavenward. “I’m detecting a note of blatant favoritism from the third-party. Expect a formal complaint. Uncle Tony has a legal team—they’ve got _business cards_.”

 

**( * * * )**

 

**to be continued**

 

**Author's Note:**

> The second half of this should be up before New Years! I just wanted to give you all something after having not done anything with this series in so long :) Have a great day! AND ALSO THE NOISE YOU MAKE WHEN IT HITS YOU THE DOCTOR WHO CHRISTMAS SPECIAL IS ON TONIGHT!!!!!!!


End file.
